


Carriage Ride

by TheSmutFaries



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e18 Tempus Fugit, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Shameless Smut, So much smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 15:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmutFaries/pseuds/TheSmutFaries
Summary: Abbie tries to convince Captain Crane of their partnership in the future before it's too late to stop the witch that brought her to the past.  Can she succeed?  (Don't be fooled by the summary.  Honestly, it's all just shameless smut with a hint of plot).Posted by popular demand.





	1. Chapter One

“Miss Mills, must you continue your infernal fidgeting?” Crane’s expression could almost be mistaken for curiosity than admonition. It takes biting the inside of her lips to keep her mouth shut.

_Losing your temper isn’t going to get you where you need to go, Abbie._

“I never realized carriages were so uncomfortable,” Abbie says as she shifts around on the hard seat, looking for some sort of relief. “You feel every bump and dip in the road.”

“How long do you plan to maintain you are from the future?” he asks.

“As long as it’s the truth,” Abbie counters.

Ichabod looks away and shakes his head. “For the sake of amusement,” he says lowly, “I will ask if travel methods have… evolved in your time?” Ichabod’s expression is inscrutable but his tone has more than enough incredulity to convey his disbelief.

Abbie gives a terse nod. “Vehicles that move without horses.” Ichabod scoffs. “We call them cars,” she says over his disbelief.

"Cars.” Ichabod tries the word aloud, but it’s obvious it holds no meaning for him. “Utterly preposterous combination of sounds for an equally preposterous concept. I would strive to do better, madam; it sounds utterly fabricated.”

“All words are at some point,” she points out and can’t help her grin as Crane goes immediately to retort but finds he can’t. Straightening even more in his seat, his frown deepens and his fingers twitch once against his knees, and in the small space of the carriage, almost touches hers.

A particularly brutal bounce jars her from staring at his hands. She’s jostled along the seat on her side and glares as Crane’s eyes dare to twinkle with amusement at her feeble attempts to brace herself. Abbie wants his secret - how is he not bouncing around like a fucking marble?

“Well, madam, I find I must concede your point,” he says, and Abbie’s ire evaporates into fondness; he sounds just like _her_ Crane when he’s just lost an argument.

She searches his face a moment, desperately wanting a flicker of recognition, _anything_ that shows he knows her. “You like them, though. Cars,” she clarifies. “You seem to like pretty much everything that goes fast.” Abbie watches as his irrepressible curiosity wars with his skepticism.

“That information is hardly difficult to suss; I am known to enjoy a fast horse,” Ichabod says, observing her attire.

Two steps back, great.

Abbie lifts the curtain over the small window but releases it a second later. There’s nothing out there but forest. She feels Ichabod’s gaze but Abbie doesn’t know if she should keep talking. What she can say to avoid causing more damage to the fragile trust she thinks she’s building? It’s tedious and she’s starting to feel the carriage ride in her muscles.

“I have a query,” Ichabod says, breaking the sudden silence.

Abbie looks at him. “Shoot,” she says warily.

“I beg pardon?”

Abbie grimaces. “It means ask your question.”

Ichabod considers the phrase. “That sounds as if it could potentially be dangerous.”

“I’m sure it does, but it makes perfect sense where I come from.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, still assessing her.

Abbie bounces her leg and sighs loudly. “Are you going to ask your question or not?”

Ichabod inclines his head. “I find myself at a loss; I cannot seem to determine the material that comprises your garment.”

Abbie looks down. They’re alone and moving, couldn’t hurt to show him; may even help him to believe her. “This is just a jacket; like what your coat, just not as heavy,” she says as she pries apart the snaps and reveals the zipper beneath.

“I don’t think that is anything like my garb.” Ichabod moves forward and for Abbie to maintain the illusion of personal space she must lean away. This is messing with her mind; it’s almost like she’s back with her Crane.

With a long and graceful digit he reaches out to touch the quilted material on her arm briefly before retracting his hand. “The texture is truly strange,” he murmurs. “And It fulfills its purpose to keep you warm?”

“Yes.”

“Pray tell, how? This cloth is very thin.” Ichabod regards it skeptically.

“Let’s just say modern textiles.“

"Can you elaborate any more than that?” He asks when it is obvious she doesn’t intend to continue.

“Not really.” She smiles at his exasperation. “Besides, this outerwear isn’t meant to protect me from a full blown snowstorm or anything like that. Just a slightly chilly day.”

Ichabod nods as if he comprehends. “How does one go about removing this garment?”

She taps her nail against one the metal lines on her jacket. "These are zippers.” Abbie lifts her chin to point at the her collar. “And this is the pull tab,” she says. “We use it to open the zipper.”

“Zipper,” Ichabod murmurs before grasping and wrenching it toward him. Abbie yelps and half-falls against him. "Oh, my apologies,” he practically shrieks as he drops the tab immediately. “I don’t know what I expected but it -”

“Crane; it’s okay, it’s fine.” Abbie smiles and nods for reassurance; Crane looked somewhat ill when he thought he had caused her harm. Just that bare sliver of compassion and Abbie feels something like a human being again.

_Capitalize on this_ , her instincts scream. _Turn Crane’s constant curiosity against him as a way to get through to him_.

“Here,” she says after a moment as she reaches for his hand. With what looks like great reluctance Crane puts his hand in hers, rapt as she guides it back to the tab and adjusts his grip. “Now, pull _downward_.”

He follows instructions slowly and gently, eyes widening as the cloth parts with what appears like tiny jagged teeth on either side. Ichabod pauses and runs the pad of his forefinger along one edge, marveling at the sensation. “It’s not sharp,” he marvels.

Abbie grins. “In the future we don’t want to go around cutting ourselves on our own clothes.”

“Of course.” Ichabod fingers the material of the coat. “This fabric is like nothing I have ever felt, and such a hue of blue. How is it achieved?”

“Modern chemicals, probably.” Abbie nods. “Yeah, chemicals.”

“An explanation that fails to explain; I weep for the future,” Ichabod says, and Abbie wants to rise to the slight admonition in his tone but he’s tugging the zip further down and she has to straighten to allow the zipper tension to operate.

Ichabod arrives at the end of the zipper Abbie’s waist and with one tug the jacket falls open completely; Abbie shrugs out of her jacket and attempts to fold it but Ichabod holds out his hand. “May I?”

Abbie doesn’t have anything to hide, so she hands it over for examination.

When brings it close to his face to better examine, Ichabod catches a lovely and unfamiliar scent emanating from the jacket. He cannot discern the particular notes of the fragrance, just its loveliness. Ichabod’s gaze devours her profile as she stares out the small window again. She tilts her head to glimpse something as her hand, small with a finely boned wrist, absently lifts her hair to gather the strands from her shoulder.

This woman, this Abigail Mills, refuses to retract her claims of their partnership in the future and further dares to call it _intimate_. How could that be? Ichabod cannot fathom how he is able to work that closely with someone as beautiful as she and remain only friends.

Surely there are times he pushes her hair aside so he may press his face against the join of her neck? How many times has he - Ichabod curses the physical evidence of his wicked thought and clears his throat, and turning the garment to and fro in the sunlight in order to distract himself. “Franklin will be interested in examining this,” he says to break the silence.

“Great, whatever it takes. He can look at it all he wants,” Abbie says.

Ichabod returns the garment to her and finally gets a good look at the remainder of her attire. Her shirt appears somewhat ill-equipped to contain the swell of her bosom, and tailored in such a manner that it skims the taper of her waist, where the infernal garment ends at the edge of her also closely fitted trousers.

He licks his lips as his gaze travels up her torso, cock hardening as he commits every visible curve to memory. “More zippers,” Ichabod manages to notice. “Is all attire from the future required to make use of the device?”

“No, just handy,” Abbie says, watching as Crane continues to contemplate her shirt, or more accurately her breasts _underneath_ her shirt. What a day to be caught without one of her minimizing bras.

_Be thankful it’s not a push-up, Mills._

The air in the carriage begins to feel like a furnace and Abbie’s breath quickens the longer Ichabod, no _Captain Crane_ , stares silently. Her nipples tighten under the ardor of his focus and Abbie wants to press her thighs together just a little. _Get it together, Mills!_ She licks her lips and watches Crane track the movement. Now staring at her mouth he leans forward until Abbie has nowhere to move.

Ichabod knows he should stop but he cannot continue without knowing how Miss Mill’s skin feels. Slowly he reaches out with his thumb to gently press caress the hollow of her throat and is damned for all time to know she has silk for flesh. "Abigail,“ he rumbles as he forces the hand not touching her to remain on the seat beside her shapely leg.

Abbie’s falls back against the seat as her eyes flutter shut; she losing the fight against her body’s reaction at the sound of her name in his mouth. How can he do that, make her name sound like its food and he’s starving? The silence between them is heavy, seconds ticking by as all they do is breathe the others air. Ichabod moves closer, nosing in the strands at Abbie’s temple and inhaling deeply.

She sighs and bares her neck to him and he exults.

The cabin, nay his brain, is filling with the scent of her and there’s no room for anything else. Ichabod wants her desperately, wants to know everything about her. How she takes her pleasure, what kind of touch makes her shake and makes her scream. How she looks when his cock sinks inside of her, inch by inch.

He’s so hard it hurts.

Ichabod requires more of Abbie’s intoxicating scent and its desperation that drives him to trace the curve of her ear with his mouth, drawn down until he is able to press his face against the side of her neck and inhale. At some point his other hand abandoned its post on the cushion to reside high on Abbie’s thigh and he feels the muscle shift beneath his grasp.

His tongue darts out quickly to taste her skin. It’s not enough and feeling almost feral Ichabod drags his teeth against Abbie pulse point, wanting to growl as she trembles beneath him. "Have you come to ruin me?” He whispers against her skin.

Abbie can only swallow; Ichabod is finally moving his thumb from where it lay at the base of her throat. She forgets to breathe as his caress moves down. They haven’t even really done anything and Abbie feels like she’s soaking her panties as desire pools low in her abdomen. She feels as if she could spin right off the planet and reaches for Crane’s shoulders, needing an anchor as the very tip of his thumb dips below the zipper of her shirt. Abbie refuses to make a sound and squeezes his shoulders when he doesn’t continue.

He pulls back just enough to stare down in adoration at Abbie’s upturned face. She’s so beautiful and she’s right here. Will she let him kiss her if he asks? “Tell me,” Ichabod asks instead, watching as Abbie’s eyes flutter open. “Does _this_ zipper work the same as the other?”

Abbie stares at his mouth through his whole question and lifts herself up to close the scant centimeters between them. She hesitates for just a moment before she brushes her mouth against his, an almost kiss. “Are you brave enough to find out?”


	2. Chapter Two

Abbie gasps as Ichabod pulls her onto his lap before settling back in the seat. The carriage jolts back and forth but for the first time since their trip began she doesn’t mind the rocking. Ichabod’s cock is nestled at the apex of her jeans and it makes her core throb as she’s bounced on his lap.

_Jesus_ , she thinks. If this is how it feels and he hasn’t even whipped it out yet she’s in for it. Immediately after that thought reality settles like cold water down her spine. Abbie can’t do this. Ichabod is a married man, now more than ever, even if his witch of a wife is lying to him and has come back expressly to kill him.

“Crane…” Abbie doesn’t know what she’s trying to say but her words fail completely when his large, warm hand creeps under the hem of her shirt and his fingers trace the dip of her spine. She shivers and arches her back, crazy about the small little touches he’s using to explore her body.

Ichabod’s intense focus is still on the zipper of her shirt, still in his grasp. Abbie gasps as the carriage gives a large rock and Ichabod’s hands fly to her ass to keep her steady. Abbie’s hands brace on either side of his head and they are breathing the same air mouth to mouth as they stare at each other in surprise.

Abbie brushes her nose against Ichabod’s and gasps as his grip tightens on her ass. It feels so good she can’t help but moan and grind down on his crotch to relieve the ache between her legs. Ichabod’s eyes flutter shut as he gives a groan of approval, pulling her into him as he thrusts up against the seam of her jeans.

His tongue darts out to brush against her lips and Abbie swallows it eagerly, kissing him deeply like she’s wanted to for quite some time. It’s better than her dreams and she could get off just like this with no problem at all, Abbie thinks crazily as she knocks off Ichabod’s hat and runs her hands through his hair until it’s free.

She scratches his scalp and Ichabod groans, grinding against her core as he pants into her mouth. It’s not enough, he thinks as he pulls her closer, pressing her desperately against the hard column of flesh between his thighs.

Ichabod wants inside of her, desperately.

He pulls back just enough to glance down at her clothes again. “Off,” he says eloquently, grateful when Abbie just grins at him and leans back to lift the hem of her top up and over. Ichabod’s mind stutters to a stop even as he is thankful for his eidetic memory. Her lovely and well-formed bosom is encased in some sort of flattering, shiny garment in a dazzling shade of purple Ichabod has never seen beyond a gem.

Pressing his face into Abbie’s cleavage he lays kisses to all the silken skin he can reach, smug when her small hands scrabble on his shoulders as his nose then tongue finds a pebbled peak of a nipple through the material.

“What is this?” he finds himself unable to avoid asking.

“A bra,” Abbie says breathlessly. “Don’t ask anything else about it besides how to take it off.”  
Ichabod peers closer and grins. “I am gratified to know that the future isn’t all that foreign,” he says, and releases the front clasp of her bra.

Abbie doesn’t have a chance to be impressed because Ichabod’s tongue darts out to lave at the skin between her breasts before diving in there again, rubbing his face and beard there like an overgrown cat. She almost laughs at the absurdity of it all but she’s left gasping and scrambling for purchase when he swallows a nipple and begins to suck.

“Fuck,” she whimpers at the cloth ceiling of the cabin, her hips moving involuntarily as he moves from one breast to the other, licking and kneading exactly how she likes it. How can he know how she likes it, Abbie wonders? She feels his questing fingers at the waist of her jeans and she wonders if they’re really going to do this.

“Ichabod,” she sobs as he places sucking kisses to the sensitive join of her neck. “Oh god…”

He grasps her waist and maneuvers them so she’s on the seat and he’s kneeling between her legs. Ichabod spares a moment to kiss Abbie again before turning his attention to her jeans. “Another button and zipper combination. Marvelous.” With deft fingers he has her jeans open and peels them down her thighs.

Ichabod swallows when Abbie’s arousal hits his nose, and he stops to finger the barely there scrap of underwear in the same shade as the bra he’d already divested her of; how did men manage not to go mad knowing women wore garments such as these?

“Self-control,” Abbie says dryly, grinning when Ichabod realizes he’d said that aloud.

He attempts to cover his blush by reaching back and quickly unlacing her boots so he could remove them and her jeans completely, leaving Abbie clad only in her thong. Ichabod pulls Abbie down low in the seat and pushes his face into her groin, inhaling deeply and feeling the last traces of his sanity disappear like fog in evening.

Ichabod’s hands grasp her ample backside and his brain again stutters to a stop as he realizes he’s touching nothing but flesh. Reluctantly he pulls his face from between Abbie’s thighs and glance up the plain of her abdomen at her questioningly. “Thong,” Abbie says, and turns in the seat so she’s kneeling to show him.

Ichabod’s fingers trace the string of fabric from where it spans Abbie’s tiny waist to where it meets just above her inconceivably perfect backside, to where it dips into and disappears between graceful globes.

He wants to pry it away with his teeth.

Ichabod feels feverish, mad even as he presses kisses to the dip in Abbie’s spine, filling his hands with her bottom and squeezing, spreading them to get to the nectar he can smell. He lets his fingers trace down to the sodden cloth barely covering her mound. He pushes the material aside, groaning against her skin when the pads of his fingers encounter dripping curls.

Abbie cries out, her head dropping back as she moves her hips, desperate for some kind of substantial sensation. She grinds down and the very tips of two of Ichabod’s fingers slip past her lips. Immediately his mouth is on her ass as he pushes up gently, brushing the side of her clit with his knuckles. It’s enough to make her thighs shake as she continues to move her hips.

How can just two of his fingers do this to her? Abbie grips the back of the seat in her hands and gasps high when the carriage gives another wild jolt and Ichabod’s fingers slip in to the knuckle.

They both pause in shock but it’s Ichabod that moans at how Abbie constricts around his fingers. “Good god,” he mutters as he spreads his fingers and rubs inside of her deeply. Abbie curses and gives up all pretense of doing anything but riding his hand, oblivious to the way she’s dripping all over his hand.

Ichabod pulls his hand from her and licks at her juices, greedy to get at the source. He turns her around and tears off this thong and places Abbie’s knees on his shoulders before he licks into her and sucks on her clit. Ichabod holds her hips down as he feasts on her, starving for every drop of moisture he can make her produce as if it’s the only thing that can cure his thirst.

He flattens his tongue against her swollen numb and moves it up and down, unable to quell the pride he feels as she fists his hair and tries to ride his face. Ichabod dares to push in two fingers again, scissoring them as he pumps them in and out, his entire hand immediately coated in Abbie’s juices.

“Oh god,” Abbie pants, desperate to move.

Ichabod lifts his face and regards her, pushing further inside with his fingers and holding them there. “There is much conjecture that there is a place within a woman’s body that one will know immediately upon locating, that causes a woman to see God.”

“Yeah, we call it the G-spot,” she says breathlessly. “Most guys… oh. Oh my god!” Abbie’s back bows when Ichabod presses against a spot inside of her, rubbing against it insistently. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

Ichabod uses his thumb to rub Abbie’s clit in time with his thrusts. “Won’t you come for me Abigail?” he asks, and replaces his thumb with his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking relentlessly.

“Oh god, you’ve always been a cocky… son of a… Ugh, fuck!” Abbie has no choice as she thrusts against Ichabod’s face; her body clamps down on his fingers and she comes, hard.


	3. Chapter Three

Ichabod doesn’t want to wait any longer. He removes his jacket and shirt, swearing when a small hand lands on his groin, rubbing deliciously against his hardened member.

“Continue and the race is over before it’s begun,” he warns, swallowing when Abbie licks her lips.

Abbie releases the Captain and sits back, eagerly watching lean muscle flex beneath his skin. Ichabod undoes the buttons of his pants and tugs them down to his ankles before sitting on the opposite seat, his hard cock rising from a thatch of light brown curls.

Idly he strokes it, bright blue eyes taking in Abbie’s form appreciatively. “I’ve never met anyone that drove me to such heights of madness with desire,” he groans.

Abbie grins and slips to her knees in front of him. “Captain,” she purrs, scratching down the skin of his thighs lightly with her fingernails. Ichabod shudders and widens his knees as she leans closer to his dick. “I’m about to do something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” she warns, and grasps the thick column of flesh with both hands before leaning forward and swirling her tongue around the angrily red head.

Ichabod’s eyes roll up into his head as Abbie applies just the right amount of suction and tongue to get his toes tingling. He chances a glance down and his soul nearly leaves his body as he sees Abbie, eyes closed in ecstasy, begin to bob her head up and down his shaft, mesmerized by how shiny his flesh is as it slides in and out of Abbie’s miraculous mouth.

Slowly he starts moving his hips and Abbie winks at him and keeps her head still so he can ever so carefully fuck her mouth, unable to keep silent his appreciative moans fill the air as he gently touches the back of Abbie’s head and flexes his thighs. He feels the telltale tingle in his groin and tries to figure out how to say something intelligible.

“Abigail…” he groans. “I fear I may - I am - ”

Abbie lifts her mouth off his dick with a lusty _pop_. “Do you want to come in my mouth or do you want me to sit on it?”

Ichabod whimpers, his cock literally throbbing as Abbie nuzzles against it. “I wish to feel you from the inside,” he rasps, hauling her up from the floor of the carriage and setting her in his lap. When they kiss he tastes himself on her tongue, a curious sensation before it yields to her natural sweet flavor.

Abbie squirms on his lap, trapping his hard length between her thighs and rubbing against it, spreading her moisture against his shaft when Ichabod palms her ass and squeezes. “Fuck,” she mutters, reaching down to position Ichabod at her entrance. “Fuck!” she shouts again when she begins to slide down, panting as she realizes she underestimated his girth.

“By god,” Ichabod grunts, his hands like steel bands around Abbie’s waist in attempts to prevent himself from pulling her down hard onto his cock. He widens his legs and Abbie yelps - he’s buried a few more inches inside of her.

Abbie groans at the stretch of muscles that haven’t been taxed in a time longer than she cares to admit, clamping around what feels like a steel pipe inside of her. The carriage goes over a large bump and Abbie bounces hard, taking the last few inches inside all at once. She shouts and swears, and Ichabod squeezes her ass again as she begins to grind down.

She rides Ichabod like a horse, using the swing of the carriage to help her rise and fall. It’s too good and too much - Abbie hasn’t had sex this good in years - and her body is rejoicing and making it difficult to stay coordinated.

Ichabod stares up at her, watching in rapt adoration as Abbie’s head falls back and she seems to present her glorious breasts to him as her hips begin to stutter in their rhythm. He leans forward and feasts upon a taut nipple, groaning when Abbie’s fingernails dig into his shoulders as she becomes even wetter.

He revels in how responsive her body is to him, and it’s an almost dark and covetous glee that makes him suck harder as he palms the other breast, rolling it against the callouses of his hands. Abbie’s moaning an amalgamation of his name and various swear words as she begins to contract around him.

“Oh god,” she pants, tugging Ichabod’s hair by his ponytail. “You feel so huge inside of me,” she whines as she slows down even more to savor it. “Does it feel good, captain?” she asks before licking into his mouth and kissing him deeply.

Ichabod can barely think but when Abbie slows down he begins to thrust up into her, reestablishing a faster pace. She breaks off the kiss with a wail as Ichabod slouches lower in the seat and fills his hands once more with her ass as he dedicates all efforts to make her come. The only sounds in the cabin are the rattle of wood and an obscenely wet _squelch_ as Ichabod drives into Abbie again and again.

“So, this is what you like, Lieutenant?” he asks, marveling at how she grows even wetter with each stroke. “Someone to take you most ardently. To give your divine form what it needs to return to heaven.”

Abbie wants to call him corny but he shifts his hips and pulls her down hard and she’s coming again. He doesn’t stop, even as Abbie’s body tries to contort away from the stimulation but Ichabod bears them down to the floor of the carriage and spreads her legs so they’re resting against the seats. He braces himself on his hands on either side of her head and resumes his thrusts almost desperately.

“Oh god, please.” Abbie tries to say. _Just give me a second_. But it doesn’t come out in any recognizable form. Somehow her body is spiraling back up, tightening again as Ichabod moves over and inside of her, relentlessly fucking her hard and deep. _Slow down_ is now turning into _don’t stop_ and Abbie’s quickly on her way to her third orgasm.

Ichabod couldn’t stop if he wanted. He thought he knew carnal desire, the sublime satisfaction of two bodies coming together for mutual physical gratification. But this… this was beyond any mere physical sensation. Every thrust into Abbie’s small body reverberates through his soul, making him determined to spoil her for any other man as she has done him for any woman.

“Come for me, let me feel you tighten around my cock inside you,” Ichabod grunts, shuddering through the telltale tightening in his balls. He leans down and kisses Abbie, trying to put all he feels – the desire, the confusion, the connection and acknowledgment of this… _something_ between them – all into his kiss. When Abbie gasps and keens sweetly against his mouth Ichabod can’t hold it off any longer.

Abbie begins lifting her hips to prolong the sensation, clamping down around Ichabod who feels even bigger for a moment before he begins to come, thrusting slowly as he groans and releases himself deep inside. She makes the mistake of looking in his eyes and she sees what he wants, though he doesn’t know her yet.

Stupid Crane and his stupid, romantic heart.

They remain joined for a moment, both clinging to the wholeness they feel. Ichabod moves a lock of hair from Abbie’s forehead and tenderly tucks it behind her ear. Abbie turns into his touch and kisses him, closing her eyes and damming up her heart against the well of emotion she’s feeling. She breaks the kiss first and sighs shakily when Ichabod cuddles closer, caressing her cheek and neck with his mouth.

“We gotta get dressed,” Abbie says, keeping her eyes closed so she doesn’t have to see Ichabod’s expression up close.

He stills against her but Abbie refuses to open her eyes.

“Yes, we must,” he says quietly, and when he withdraws from her body what felt like a mere wall between them was now an almost unbearable chasm. They can’t quite look at each other as they pull on their clothes but they hand over what the other can’t reach in silence. Afterward Abbie helps Ichabod wrangle his hair back into its respectable ponytail and he takes muted joy in zipping her back into her jacket.

When they step out of the carriage they leave it behind because the fate of the world is at stake.

What’s a bit of heartbreak weighed against that?


End file.
